Lethe

Who walks now out of someone else’s memory as if she owned this, my space? Her face keeps changing it forms then falls apart like melting snow, now she is this other person that recalls me. Who am I to gather up her reality to piece together her history, to deny her to sit next to me now here at the edge of this bed wanting to hold hands? Perhaps she will explain to me why we meet only between the shallows and the deep? Maybe tell me how we met, why we parted - why me?